


Brothers in Arms

by JoeLawson



Category: Van Helsing (2004)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeLawson/pseuds/JoeLawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the battle is over and the smoke clears, only two remain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers in Arms

_Through these fields of destruction  
Baptism of fire  
I've watched all your suffering  
As the battles raged higher  
And though they did hurt me so bad  
In the fear and alarm  
You did not desert me  
My brother in arms_

(Dire Straits, _Brothers In Arms_ , 1996.)

 

 **Part One:  
Marching Off To War**

Life could be funny sometimes, in a not very amusing way.

It had taken the fourth son of a rich London-merchant and pushed and shoved him about until, after a brief stint in her Majesty's British Royal Navy, he ended up in Rome, in the deepest bowels of the Vatican. He lived there under a new name; once again he was a soldier, following orders. He created weapons that were used in the worldwide war between Good and Evil by men who officially didn't exist and generally didn't exist unofficially for very long either.

Life then made the sorry bastard cross paths with the hardiest of all monster hunters, the grim but gorgeous Gabriel Van Helsing, and tickled the legendary crusader into taking enough interest in aforementioned sorry bastard's work to eventually make him decide to drag the very unprepared and extremely unwilling weapons expert with him on a journey directly into the devil's backyard.

That wasn't the end of it, of course. Whoever had written the script of Carl's existence - be it God, God's secretary, or the Opposition - they must've had the time of their life creating all the twists and turns in the already pretty cheesy plot. Bad enough that they'd missed the internal compass in his makeup that was supposed to point him firmly in the direction of 'opposite sex only' and then placed him smack into the middle of Pious Central, but to pair him up with a man of Van Helsing's caliber and expect him to tag along and think pure thoughts was cruel. It was also a lost cause from the beginning.

Prayers, memories of Cardinal Jinette's sermons (the ones especially heavy on hellfire and brimstone) and vivid visions of a mortally offended warrior got him through the sea voyage and across the Carpathians, always a step behind the tall figure in black that pushed them onwards at a merciless pace. It had been a while since Carl had spent more than a couple of hours on horseback, but to his (and likely Van Helsing's) surprise he was able to keep up. The murderous pace actually helped get him over his unseemly and highly inconvenient attraction. It took a few days for his body to adjust to the new circumstances and by the time he was able to focus on something besides carrying on or sleeping, he was no longer in so much danger of embarrassing himself.

His eyes grew accustomed to the sight of a mane of dark hair spilling from under an old slouch hat, the set of broad shoulders wrapped in black leather, the hypnotic sway of slim hips and a tight backside moving in the rhythm of the horse's gait. His heart no longer performed a _salto mortale_ every time those inscrutable dark eyes met his gaze. His hands no longer shook when he found himself within touching distance of the Church's greatest assassin and the long folds of his cowl hid the occasional erection nicely.

The trouble was that while Carl's libido could eventually be beaten into submission, his brain was an entirely different matter. He was a researcher; it was what he did best and did so often that to observe and analyze had become part of who he was. Gabriel Van Helsing, though he could be surprisingly playful at times, wasn't what anyone would call chatty. Sometimes half a day would pass before the man opened his mouth and then what came out of it was usually an order - but that didn't mean he didn't _say_ anything. As a matter of fact, Van Helsing would've been appalled had he known what his companion learned about him just by the way he went on about his business.

Van Helsing was not what you'd expect from a grim monster hunter, Carl decided. Take the horses, for example. It was plain common sense to make sure your mount stayed in good condition during a race across wintry mountains and forbidding forests. You wouldn't want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere after all... especially not in _this_ kind of nowhere. However, taking care of a horse didn't necessarily require petting it. It didn't include coaxing the reluctant quadruped across creaking ice when a good, solid slap on the rump likely would've yielded the same results. Van Helsing's mount - a tall, surefooted gelding - seemed to like its rider. It would nuzzle the man's side when Van Helsing saddled or unsaddled it, greet him with a friendly huff of warm breath when he approached, and stand blissfully still whenever the big bad monster hunter groomed it or absentmindedly rubbed its face.

While Carl was perfectly aware that just because somebody was kind to animals, it didn't necessarily mean he was a nice person, he was fairly certain that if same somebody gave up one of his own blankets (however grudgingly) because his companion was freezing his ass off, or spent extra time on the hunt for dinner every day because said companion preferred four-legged roast to fowl, then that could be considered definite hints about a soft spot or two.

For an alleged murderer, Gabriel Van Helsing could be downright sweet now and then; mostly when he thought nobody was watching.

Carl did watch and he remembered and by the time they reached their destination, his little infatuation had turned into something he very carefully labeled "friendship with a touch of hero-worship and a tiny little bit of sexual attraction, maybe, and a lot of affection". He was positive that Gabriel liked him, too, because despite a certain exasperation with Carl's quirks and habits the man tolerated them with more patience than anybody before.

Life was good... and then came Dracula.

* * *

It started with the vampire brides. Nasty things, those, Carl decided as he watched Van Helsing duck and roll and fire with admirable steadiness and appalling aim at everything that moved and had wings. He wasn't quite sure if it was Van Helsing's skill or sheer dumb luck that prevented any of the villagers from getting shot. Luckily, Carl had not only developed the automatic crossbow but also spare magazines and an uncomplicated reloading mechanism. They'd practiced the throw-catch-reload maneuver several times during their journey and Carl was inordinately pleased with himself to find he could perform his part in it even under attack. It didn't keep Van Helsing from being tossed around by the flying bitches, but in combination with the holy water it eventually evened the scales.

Lesson number one: female vampires attacked in packs (or was that swarms?) but were thoroughly discouraged when one of their number got fried.

Lesson number two: not only ambisexual friars were attracted by handsome heroes in black leather. Anna Valerious - who didn't even limp after being smashed through roofs and crashing from trees, damn her alabaster hide - showed definite interest in Van Helsing, who thankfully seemed too bruised and annoyed to pick up on it. Either that, or knocking out beautiful female vampire hunters counted as foreplay in his book. Somehow, Carl didn't think so.

He helped Van Helsing carry the unconscious woman up the stairs then bustled ahead looking for the room most likely to be her bedroom. Couldn't have the aggravated assassin march along the corridor and kick in doors until he found a place to drop her, after all - that'd be bad form. For a noble crusader, Van Helsing had so far displayed a remarkable lack of chivalry.

They deposited her on what hopefully was her own bed and stared down at the sleeping gypsy princess with matching frowns. "Doesn't look too comfortable, this," Carl observed as he eyed the lady's corset critically. "Shouldn't we... ah... untie her, or something? So she can breathe?"

Van Helsing shot him a sideways glance. "She doesn't strike me as a person who'd appreciate this kind of help."

Thinking of the none-too-friendly welcome and Lady Valerious' attitude towards them so far, that was probably only too true. Still, it seemed rude to just let her lie there. Carl's innate sense of consideration wrestled briefly with his more pragmatic side. "We could at least remove her shoes."

They both scrutinized her high-heeled boots. The way they were laced looked even more complicated than the many buckles and cords that held together the corset. Van Helsing shuddered, took a step back and made a sweeping gesture with his left arm. "Be my guest."

" _You_ were the one who just _had_ to test the anesthetic," Carl pointed out.

His accusation was met with a shrug. "It was that or cold-cock her. She would've stormed right out that door and gotten herself killed." Van Helsing shook his head, seemingly undecided whether to admire their spirited ally or be irritated by her bullheadedness. "Let's hope by the time she wakes up she'll have cooled down some."

With a last, vaguely guilty look at the fully dressed huntress, Carl decided that when it came down to it, Gabriel's health took priority over Anna Valerious' comfort. "Well, I suppose this isn't the first time she's slept like this," he mumbled and focused on his companion. "How're you?"

Gabriel flashed him a smile. "I'm fine."

"Black and blue, more likely," Carl said dryly. " _I_ hurt, and I only _watched_ you tangle with those harpies." He followed Van Helsing back downstairs and headed for the luggage they'd tossed into a corner upon arrival. "I brought some healing salve. It's very good. Let me get it for you."

A large hand came down upon his shoulder and stopped him with a firm, but surprisingly gentle grip. "Later, maybe. I'd rather find something to eat and then try to get a few hours of sleep before Lady Valerious wakes up and gives me a piece of her mind."

Carl hesitated. He remembered all too clearly how gingerly the other man had moved after the fight. On the other hand, he could more than empathize with Van Helsing's desire to rest; the journey to Romania had been hard and the Hunter had had no opportunity to recover from the mission before this one. Unlike Carl, he hadn't slept much on the ship, and he had become increasingly vigilant and edgy the closer they had come to Transylvania. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Van Helsing nodded. "I'm sure. I'll be as good as new in the morning."

Well, if he was sure... "I'll go find the kitchen," Carl offered. "If you can find us rooms and carry our bags upstairs, I'll prepare something hot to eat and maybe some tea." He received a slight bow and a wink in reply and once again had to calm his foolish heart as it fluttered at the sight of a teasing Gabriel. Kitchen, he scolded himself. Food. No improper advances on Cardinal Jinette's favorite warrior.

"Carl?"

The quiet call made him stop in the doorway and turn around to face his companion again. Half shrouded in shadow, half bathed in firelight, Gabriel was breathtaking. Carl had to swallow hard before he could squeeze a word past the sudden lump in his throat. "Yes?"

Lord God above, a travel-worn killer shouldn't be able to smile like this. "Thank you."

 _Hero worship. A liiiittle bit of sexual attraction. Affection. That's all._

Carl nodded. "You're welcome."

It was going to be a long mission.

* * *

It would've been too much to hope for a decent night's sleep, the young friar supposed grimly when he was woken around two in the morning by an unholy racket from the hallway. The unpleasant smell of wet dog and the grim look on Van Helsing's face added up to "werewolf" and Carl was only too happy to let the professionals handle that particular threat. Bad enough that he was tired and jealous and way out of his element; it wouldn't do to add "furry and stinky" to the mix.

Since he was up anyway and unable to fall asleep again with Gabriel out there facing God-knew-what, Carl decided to make good use of the extensive library and see if he could find some background information to help his partner. He poured over books and scrolls and moldy paintings until the arrival of Dracula's brood interrupted his studies. Baby vampires. Ugly little winged monsters with pointy teeth and big eyes and a tendency to explode in great bursts of green slime without apparent reason. It was disgusting.

The only positive thing to come out of the incident was that Carl managed to play knight in scruffy robes to a barmaid's damsel in distress, which resulted in a chance to relieve some of the pent-up sexual tension that had plagued him for weeks. Not that it did much good; Gabriel's shadow hovered over them during the entire encounter. Every time he thrust into the girl's warm wetness, a part of him wondered what it would be like to sink himself into Gabriel's willing body. Would Gabriel moan and sigh for him, or be quiet? Would he move and writhe and hold on to Carl, or keep himself still? Would those compelling eyes be open or closed?

In the end, Carl's climax was brought on by a mental image of Gabriel Van Helsing's sculptured body stretched out before him, his dark hair and tanned skin a sharp contrast to the white covers and his gaze for once free of shadows as he surrendered himself into his lover's gentle care with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

Afterwards, Illena told him he was the best she'd ever had.

Carl felt like a cad.

* * *

Lesson number three: life with Van Helsing was never boring.

When Gabriel told him they'd have to go back to Rome and regroup, Carl was thrilled. No more semi-hostile villagers. No more big drafty mansions. No more snow and cold and garlic. Best of all, no more monsters.

Van Helsing said, "We'll take somebody along with us. He'll be good company, you'll see."

 _Fine_ , Carl thought.

Van Helsing said, "He needs protecting from Dracula."

 _All right_ , Carl thought.

Van Helsing said, "Whatever you do, don't stare at him."

 _Oh, you unbelievable bastard, I'll get you back for this_ , Carl thought, and stared at the big fucking monster sitting in their coach.

* * *

In order to confuse Dracula, they didn't make for Varna but took the land route west. The Vatican had a large base in Vienna, where they would find support in the form of manpower and weaponry. Of course they didn't even make it to Budapest before all hell broke loose, complete with screeching harpies, a scary but clumsy werewolf, and two panicking teams of six Transylvanian horses each. Anna fell off the carriage, Gabriel fell off the carriage, and Carl was stuck in the middle trying to figure out who to save first. Anna Valerious was the last of her bloodline and their prime directive was to keep her alive and breathing, but Gabriel Van Helsing was Carl's friend and as unique as Anna and infinitely more precious to Carl.

He probably would've dropped Anna like a hot potato if not for the monster's offer to help. The thing might've been ugly as sin, but it was also built like a brick shithouse and its chances of pulling Van Helsing back to safety were a lot better than Carl's. Gabriel had insisted the monster was not evil. Given the circumstances, Carl had no choice but to put his faith in the man's judgment and take the risk.

Frankenstein's monster didn't disappoint him. It could've been a sentimental moment if not for the damn werewolf's untimely reappearance.

The rest of the journey was a complete disaster. Carl had to jump out of the burning carriage with the monster in tow, Velkan Valerious got himself killed, Anna Valerious got herself kidnapped, and the supposedly unshockable horses had likely passed Rome and were still running. They had to walk to Budapest; cross-country to avoid undue attention, through forest and winter-frosted fields and across frozen creeks and hedges. The monster wasn't what anybody would call inconspicuous, and they weren't up to facing a pitchfork-swinging mob.

By the time they arrived in the city, Frankenstein's creation had gone from sullen to downright rude, Carl's blistered feet were freezing in his wet boots, and Gabriel looked like death warmed over. His face was pale underneath the tan and he moved with the careful precision of a hurt man trying not to jar a serious injury. Of course it took negotiations with the last remaining vampire bitch and a hearty shake by Frankenstein's monster to reveal the reason behind his deteriorating state of health. Carl didn't know whether to weep at the sight of the deep, ragged wound or yell at his friend for keeping this a secret. Not that he could've done anything about the infection, but he could've cleaned the bite and patched it up so Gabriel didn't have to walk twenty miles with bleeding tears in his chest, damn it!

Van Helsing, charming as always, knocked out the monster. He avoided Carl's gaze, a slightly guilty look on his face, and Carl realized with grim satisfaction that the stubborn idiot knew he'd messed up. They stashed their unconscious bartering chip under a bridge and went in search of appropriate attire for the hostage exchange. Three hours later they were staring bleakly at the only two costumes available for what money they had. There was no way Van Helsing could fit into the jester's outfit, much as he would've deserved it, so Carl grabbed the clothes with a disgusted grunt and followed the shopkeeper into the back of the store to have as many of the irritating bells and frills removed as possible. He might as well change at once - at least the garish costume was clean and dry and came with a pair of solid leather boots.

He came back to find Gabriel waiting for him on one of the shopkeeper's singularly uncomfortable chairs, slumped against the backrest with his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat covering his face. He looked so tired and vulnerable in his rumpled black leathers with the ever-present slouch hat peeking from beneath the dirty folds of his coat that Carl's lingering anger evaporated in a cloud of worry and helpless tenderness. God, when had he started to care so much for this man? Van Helsing was hard as a Japanese blade, scarred and remote and deadly. He was also a loyal friend and protective companion, could be gentle and playful and sad and sexy and funny and charming and compassionate and...

...and Carl was so much in love with him it hurt.

A fine time it was for an epiphany, too, just on the eve of battle. He shivered, crossed himself, and determinedly pushed the emotions aside. There was nothing he could do about them anyway. If anybody ended up conquering Gabriel's well-guarded heart, it would likely be Anna. She was smart, stunning, and nicely female. He would just have to learn to live with it and try to be happy for them both.

With a deep, weary sigh, Carl paid an exorbitant sum for the outfits as well as some bread and dried fruit and a bottle of extremely watered down wine from the storekeeper's private supply. Most shops were already closed and he and Gabriel needed to eat. He arranged for his clothes, Gabriel's costume and the bags that contained their weapons to be stored at the shop, then woke up his partner with a touch and led his clearly still slightly disoriented companion back out into the dusk.

They made their way back to the bridge in silence, but it was a silence born of fatigue rather than anger this time. Gabriel seemed to sense that he'd been forgiven and it sent a strange little flutter through Carl's belly to see those broad shoulders straighten from their exhausted slump and some of the lost grace return to the man's movements. They shared the food and drink between them as they walked and when Carl offered him the last piece of dried apple, Gabriel took it with a smile in his eyes and a small nod of gratitude.

They didn't speak as they lugged the not inconsiderable weight of the monster through the seedier sections of Budapest to the old graveyard, where they deposited it in a nice, sturdy crypt. Unsurprisingly, it was Carl who broke the quiet. He desperately needed to talk about their situation, even if only to sort out his own thoughts and theories. Gabriel reacted with something akin to relief to the return of his companion's chatter. The sudden insight that the infamous monster hunter had grown used to Carl's presence and the sound of his voice was almost enough to let Carl forget about the stupid jester's outfit. Almost.

* * *

Lesson number four included the sickening realization that even slowed down by a deep bite wound Van Helsing had a suicidal streak a mile wide (as proven by his hare-brained jump off a balcony and onto an itty bitty trapeze), a sour reminder that Van Helsing wasn't the only player in this game who habitually cheated (hence the capture of their oh-so-cleverly hidden patchwork-protégé and the discovery that they were standing in ballroom full of hungry vampires), and the long awaited confirmation that Carl's habit of always dragging along at least two more of his toys than strictly necessary was a good thing after all (and _eureka!_ twelve years of tinkering with the much slighted sunlight-gadget paid off spectacularly with the annihilation of an army of bloodsuckers).

True to form, things went downhill from there.

After a particularly heroic and incredibly stupid escape to the tune of

"Where're we going?"   
"Through the window!"

and the proof positive that genius plus unstable chemicals made for pretty lights and dead vampires, Carl found himself treading water in the dark. Anna and Gabriel were definitely a bad influence on each other.

Dracula promptly decided to thumb his nose at them by shipping Frankenstein's monster out by boat, predictably provoking Van Helsing to chase after him swimming until a lowered metal grate stopped him. The thwarted Hunter was livid; he exploded like a barrel of glycerin 48 when Carl admitted that he'd informed his superiors about their situation and had received orders to eliminate Frankenstein's monster along with Dracula simply because it wasn't human.

It should've been terrifying to be held by the throat by a raging, wolf-eyed assassin who seemed about a step away from snapping his neck, but while he readily admitted to himself that he'd all but pissed himself during those endless seconds, the thing Carl later remembered most vividly about the incident was the way Gabriel had looked when the fury had passed and he'd grasped what he had almost done. He'd never seen his friend so lost and frightened and bone-tired. As he leaned against the cold barrier that had kept him from going after the creature he'd sworn to protect, Gabriel's eyes showed a weariness that scared Carl deeply. The man had driven himself past the point of exhaustion to where all that kept him going were hard-headed doggedness and habit and Carl was terrified of what would happen when the last reserves were gone and Gabriel had no strength left to fight.

Somehow, Carl convinced his companions that pursuing Dracula immediately would do no good. He left the awfully docile Van Helsing with the last of the Valeriouses huddled in a damp alley and returned to the store where they'd bought their costumes. Half an hour of haggling later, Carl collected his still dripping wet charges and ushered them back there. Vladimir Petrovic, the shop owner, directed them to the two rooms Carl had rented for the remainder of the night. It wasn't much - Anna was offered the guest room and the two men had to share a mattress in the stockroom - but it was dry and warm and relatively safe.

Petrovic had woken his wife and she brought them blankets and hot tea before she disappeared into the guest room to see if Anna needed anything. Satisfied that the huntress was in good hands, Carl finally focused all of his attention on his friend. Gabriel didn't protest when he was divested of his coat and weapons. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, for once too worn out to take proper care of himself... so Carl did it for him.

It was strange. For weeks Carl had dreamed about undressing Gabriel. He'd touched himself with thoughts of the other man's sleek, powerful form in his mind, had choked back cries of passion as he imagined the feel of Gabriel's skin, the sight of his most intimate parts. He should've been panting with desire, but as he gently peeled the sodden clothes off his friend's too cold body, all he felt was concern and protectiveness. He threw the ruined costume into a corner, grabbed the thin towel their host had provided and rubbed the wounded warrior dry with a meticulousness and care that rivaled his dealing with precious, fragile glass vials. Gabriel stood motionless the entire time. He moved only when Carl told him to, and when the friar urged him to sit down on the mattress he did so obediently.

Carl wrapped a blanket around the scarred body, mindful of the sore-looking wound. He kneeled behind his friend, who sat cross-legged with his head bowed, and carefully started to dry off the dark hair. After a while Gabriel sighed quietly and leaned against him, heavy and clean and smelling faintly of melted snow. Carl steadfastly ignored the sudden shaking of his hands and kept up his ministrations. When Gabriel began to list to the side, he draped an arm around the muscular torso and cradled the taller man close to his own chest. His hand dropped the towel and buried itself in the mane of still damp hair, where, almost reflexively, it started to delicately untangle the small knots and twisted strands until Carl could run his fingers through the thick tresses without a hitch.

Gabriel hummed.

Unable to suppress a smile at the sound of contentment, Carl continued the petting until Gabriel's weight became too much and he had to shift position or drop his cherished burden. He shifted them both carefully until Gabriel was curled up on his side on the mattress then finally stripped off his clammy robes, grabbed the heavy wool blankets from the nearby stool, and lay down next to his friend. Gabriel pressed back against him immediately in search of warmth or comfort or both, and Carl pulled him into a tight embrace, more than willing to provide whatever the other needed.

They fell asleep like this; bruised and naked and wrapped around each other like vines, long dark and short reddish hair mingling on the pillow.

* * *

The journey back to Transylvania went blissfully undisturbed. Anna insisted on driving and spent most of the time on her chosen post, reins in one hand and whip in the other. The influence she wielded even here in combination with Van Helsing's intimidating reputation and the emergency stash from the Vatican bought them a reasonably comfortable carriage and a team of eight thoroughbred horses. They weren't Transylvanian horses, much to Anna's disgust, and they weren't a matched group either, but one look at the glossy hides and the fire in the dark eyes and Carl decided he liked these checkered beasties better than the showy black stallions that had brought them west.

He knew the long coach ride would be the last opportunity to rest before the final confrontation with Dracula and Gabriel agreed reluctantly to Carl's demands that he take it easy. It was impossible to sleep while the carriage bounced along the uneven road, over stones and through holes and across bridges so ancient they looked like they had grown across the deep chasms that ran through the craggy sides of the Carpathians, but Gabriel gave it a try. The fact that at times he actually managed to drift off for an hour or two was testament to how much his wound was bothering him and Carl's concern grew with every feverish toss and turn of his friend's blanket-covered form. They hadn't talked about the night they'd spent sleeping in each other's arms; Carl thought that most likely either Gabriel remembered little to nothing of what happened, or had been too out of it to register much of anything. It didn't bother him; he had been aware and he'd treasure the memory and keep it safe in the sanctuary of his heart.

They arrived at their destination a day before the first night of the full moon. The changes in Gabriel were getting harder to ignore as he was edgy, irritable, and prone to throwing heavy furniture. It was with some reluctance that Carl handed him back his weapons, sharpened and tuned and oiled until they seemed almost alive with expectation and the lust for vampire blood. Anna looked as eager to get to cutting as Van Helsing. Carl had to admit they made a beautiful (if more than slightly disturbing) couple.

When everything else failed, Carl habitually fell back on science... and the first thing a student learned there was to take a step back from a puzzle and analyze the hell out of it. _Know your basics_ , his old chemistry teacher had told him. _It's no use to fumble around blindly. If you cannot see an easy solution, break the problem down to its key components and go from there._ It was the kind of advice that had led to the development of Van Helsing's special-issue crossbow and Carl saw no reason to change a winning formula.

Five minutes later, he paced the room in full lecture mode, recounting the information he'd dug up about Anna's family and their history with Vladislaus Dracula. The two Hunters listened avidly, their eagerness to find their quarry overriding their usual reluctance to hold still long enough to listen to speeches that included information beyond location, type of hostile, and preferred method of elimination.

It was Gabriel who - with a leap of intuition - found the door to Dracula's "icy fortress" and he was the first to walk through the mirror, impatient as a bloodhound on a trail. Anna, with her usual lack of self-preservation instinct, followed immediately. Damn stupid suicidal idiots. Carl hurried through the silvery portal after his companions. He stopped, stared at the colossal castle in front of him, remembered what they were about to face, and realized with a nauseating lurch of his stomach that he'd forgotten to bring their weapons along. He did an about-turn, planning to run back and get the bag, and ran smack into the cool, solid surface of the now-closed door. No retreat, no surrender.

Damn it.

* * *

The night passed in a blur.

The first thing Carl discovered upon arrival at Castle Dracula was that if you want a reasonable plan of attack, you'd better not rely on a pissed-off assassin on the verge of turning into a werewolf and an equally incensed gypsy princess on a vendetta. Van Helsing's "strategy" was to grab his companions around the waist and jump over the massive gateway to Dracula's fortress like the lycanthropic version of an overly large sand flea, zero in on the first henchman unlucky enough to shuffle across his field of vision and nail him to the nearest wall with his rotating blades (one of Carl's finer inventions) for interrogation.

It just so happened that one of the main supply shafts of the castle ran right past their position and Frankenstein's monster, for some obscure reason trapped in a block of ice, was pulled up towards what Carl supposed was the main work area of the building. It was a handy coincidence that made Carl think suspiciously of all the other times life had been so demonstratively solicitous. Bad things were sure to follow.

Still, the promise of an antidote that might save Gabriel was awfully compelling. Not only were lycanthropes outlawed by the church due to their moon-induced ferocity and inclination towards serial killing, but it also seemed that Dracula's powers gave him command over their kind. The idea of his friend being forced to submit to the vampire lord almost made Carl physically ill. Gabriel had survived so much, had been used so often; to be violated and twisted like this might well break that wounded spirit.

However, Van Helsing, typically, didn't go for the easy solution, not if there was a chance of using the curse he'd suffered against his enemy. Carl wanted to smack himself for voicing his thoughts about the meaning of the moving picture he'd discovered - that the reason why Dracula kept a cure for lycanthropy close was likely because a werewolf could pose a serious threat to his continued existence.

Gabriel, insensitive clod that he could be at times, didn't make things any better by handing him the silver stake and the responsibility of ending his existence should they arrive too late with the antidote. As proud as it made Carl that Gabriel entrusted this hardest of all tasks to him instead of Anna Valerious, he really didn't think he could do it if push came to shove. Ram a sharpened metal stick through the person he held most dear? How callous did Van Helsing think he was? Though, seeing as they were talking about a clumsy little friar going up against roughly five hundred pounds of muscle, finger-sized claws and dagger-like fangs, the question was mostly academic anyway...

The moment was appropriately topped off by Anna kissing Van Helsing, thus squashing any hopes Carl might've still harbored about his chances. He couldn't even properly hate her, because beneath the slutty outfit and the tough talk she was a likable person. She might be marked by a war that had raged since long before her birth, but she was neither uncaring nor cruel. She was a crusader, like Van Helsing. She was also ravishing, stinking rich, Church-approved, and likely dynamite in bed. And female; couldn't forget _that_.

As Carl helped her herd their morose hostage - whose name turned out to be Igor - through narrow corridors and winding staircases, he mentally composed a list of all the reasons why Gabriel might be interested in him instead of Anna and the result was depressing enough that he didn't pay Igor enough attention and got kicked in the butt and locked in a room with Anna and the antidote for his trouble.

Thank God Dracula's paranoia worked in their favor for once and the viscous fluid that held the syringe turned out to be highly acidic. It ate through vampire face and metal bars easily and provided Anna with a distraction and him with a way out. He closed his ears to the battle raging between the gypsy and the last vampire bride, pressed the antidote against his chest, and ran. Gabriel needed him. It was all that counted.

Igor made his reappearance while Carl was crossing one of the long stone bridges that connected the separate parts of the castle over what looked like a bottomless abyss. The timely arrival of Frankenstein's monster took care of him but led to another delay in form of a brief dilemma about whether to obey his orders and destroy the creature or save its life. Since Carl had never been a stickler for rules and Gabriel seemed to like the big guy, the friar didn't waste much time with agonizing mental debates but swung the monster free and went on his way.

True to form, life chose that moment to have another good laugh at his expense and lightning struck the bridge and chewed off a good portion of it.

In a bout of temporary insanity he threw the syringe to Anna as she sailed by on a torn cable, belatedly almost suffering a heart attack as he envisioned a near or not-so-near miss. Jesus H. Christ, those attacks of heroic follies were contagious! The mere fact that instead of counting his blessings and returning to the castle he edged his way across the crumbling bit of stone structure that was left of the bridge proved his point. It was a good thing he did it, too, because Anna decided to tangle with her favorite vampire bitch again. He tossed her the silver stake, watched her use it professionally, then was almost impaled by the damn thing as it came flying back towards him and struck the wall a few inches from his head.

Hoping that Anna would get the antidote to Van Helsing, now that she was no longer waylaid by homicidal vampires or other critters, Carl pulled the stake free and looked for a way into the main part of the castle. The air smelled of fire, smoke and burnt meat. His nose wrinkled at the strangely unpleasant odor. It wasn't until he passed the charred, still smoldering corpse of a dwergi that he understood where the bitter stink came from. He could hear the sound of battle, the shrieks and roars of creatures that had left humanity far behind, crashes and bangs and the hiss of electricity.

Then the screams and the other racket stopped.

Somewhere, a bell tolled.

Carl picked up his robes and started to run.

* * *

Years later, Carl would think of the scene that had presented itself to him as he skidded through a smashed doorway and stumbled into the great hall, and he would marvel at the fact that he couldn't for the life of him picture how the room had looked. He had a vague recollection of broken machinery and dancing flames, flying sparks and dead dwergi and - weirdly enough - the fragrance of roses underneath the more dominant smells of smoke and blood, but the only thing that stood out in his mind with perfect clarity was the image of the giant, black wolfman hunched over a chaise longue.

The lycanthrope version of Van Helsing was as stunning as the regular one. His fur was black and glossy, his every movement a note in a symphony of amazing grace, and the aura of power and sheer vitality that surrounded him took Carl's breath away. He knew without a doubt that despite the blood and grime that covered the creature, he had never seen a more magnificent beast. The Wolf was beautiful; far from being diminished by the change, Van Helsing seemed honed down to his essentials, strong, fearless, deadly... the ultimate weapon. The Vatican would kill to get their hands on him; or they might just kill him.

In the long seconds that Carl stared at his transformed friend and the dead body at his feet he became aware just how fiercely he loved Gabriel Van Helsing and that, given the choice, he'd rather die and know Gabriel was free than do his duty and end the new life. Only he didn't have a choice. Gabriel had made his decision for him when he handed him the stake and asked a final favor from him and so Carl begged God for forgiveness and aimed the weapon at his friend's back.

The huge hand that wrapped around his wrist was coarse and leathery and warm, stronger than anything he'd ever felt. It held him easily, but despite the firmness of the grip it didn't hurt him. Carl tilted his head back and stared into the Wolf's face, waiting for death that never came. As their eyes met, something softened in the creature's amber gaze, something familiar; something that felt like Gabriel.

The next thing that flickered through those amazing eyes was pain, a flash of confusion and rising understanding. They looked down, both of them, and saw the syringe stuck in the washboard abs of the werewolf. Anna's fighter's reflexes must've made her jab the needle into her attacker's belly even as he snapped her neck.

As lucidity returned, Gabriel turned away from Carl towards the chaise longue and the fallen woman there and he picked her up and threw his head back and let loose with a mournful howl that raised the hairs on Carl's body in visceral sympathy. The howl subsided as he returned to human form; the emotion didn't. Squeezing his eyes shut, Gabriel held Anna close and sobbed brokenly, dryly, his sweat and blood staining the unblemished white of her skin.

 

 **Part Two:  
Out of the Fire**

It was Carl who got them back to the Valerious mansion. He led a mute, dazed, and practically naked Van Helsing, who carried Anna's body in his arms, through the maze of corridors until they found a servant's exit near the gigantic entrance portal. The mirror gate to the house must've been reactivated by the approach of the man who'd slain Dracula, because they crossed through it without incident.

A lot of coaxing was necessary to make Gabriel let go of Anna; they placed her on her bed and covered her with a blanket before Carl gently steered his friend into the guest room. Unwilling to leave the trembling man alone, Carl decided to postpone the much needed bath until Gabriel had recovered from the events of the night. Dracula had done some damage despite the resilience of the werewolf form and the shock of the antidote hitting his system in combination with the discovery that he'd killed Anna had only added to the blows Gabriel had taken. It really was no wonder the man was barely coherent.

"Sit down," Carl ordered softly, and Gabriel's knees buckled as if he'd only waited for permission to collapse.

Carl caught him as he threatened to pitch forward and held him close for a long while as Gabriel sat perched on the edge of the bed, clinging to Carl as shivers coursed through his muscles and his gasping breaths warmed the friar's belly through the tattered robes. Helpless in the face of so much silent anguish, all Carl could do was shelter the battered soldier in his arms, stroke his hair, whisper worthless promises of better times, and try to hold together the shattered pieces of his friend with nothing but the strength of his caring.

Eventually, Gabriel let go of Carl and straightened. He seemed calmer now, but wouldn't meet Carl's gaze, hiding behind his long, dark lashes instead and studying the bedspread tiredly. Unsure what to do, Carl decided to give the other man back as much of his lost control as he could the only way he knew how, but as he stepped back from the bed to go collect a couple of weapons from the vast collection outside, Gabriel's head jerked up in alarm. "Where are you going?"

The sharp, almost panicky tone of the inquiry stopped Carl in his tracks. "I was just going to..." He finally got a good look at Gabriel's eyes and what he saw there made him turn around and march straight back to the bed. "Nowhere. I'm staying right here. Scoot over."

Gabriel moved so they could push back the duvet, but hesitated to lie down. "I'm dirty," he noted, forlornly. "I'll mess up the linens."

Not that anybody was left who'd give a damn, Carl thought, but decided against pointing out this observation. "It's all right," he said. He stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed beside the still rigidly vertical Van Helsing. "We'll change the covers tomorrow. I think I spotted a wash trough and a board downstairs. I don't know about the soap, but we'll find it, no problem. Can't be that hard to clean a couple of bedclothes, can it?" His inane chatter seemed to do the trick; Gabriel relaxed and at last lay down at Carl's side, facing away from him. "See? It's not so bad," Carl murmured as he pulled the blankets over them both and surreptitiously moved closer. "It's just a bit of sweat. Go to sleep, I'll take care of it first thing in the morning."

With a small nod, Gabriel placed his head on the pillow and grew still. Within a few minutes his breathing had evened out and he sank into an exhausted slumber. Carl watched him, certain that his companion's sleep would be plagued by nightmares all too soon, but it had been a long, hard night for him, too, and weariness overcame his desire to keep watch. He dropped off with his forehead resting lightly between Gabriel's shoulder blades.

* * *

If nightmares hounded them that night, Carl didn't remember them in the morning. He awoke after a few hours, feeling like he'd been running up and down stairs and climbing across disintegrating bridges, not to mention being kicked around and electrocuted. Gabriel had turned around sometime and was now stretched out on his side facing Carl. He was still deeply asleep and if the shadows under his eyes and the lines on his face were any indication, he'd stay so for some time to come. He had snuggled close again and his broad-shouldered frame half covered Carl like a human shield.

It would have been heaven and hell in one to stay like this, to rest in the haven of Gabriel's protective presence, maybe watch him wake and make sure he knew he wasn't alone. Unfortunately, somebody had to clean up the aftermath of the battle, and since Gabriel was in no condition to slip back into his untouchable Van Helsing persona yet, the task fell to Carl.

He extricated himself carefully; amazed that he could do so without waking his companion. Usually, the slightest disturbance had Gabriel wide awake and ready to fight. He still grew restless when Carl rolled off the bed, but in a stroke of genius Carl balled up his discarded cowl and offered it to the sleeping man. With an unintelligible mutter, Gabriel curled around the ratty material and buried his face in the folds, inhaling Carl's scent. It calmed him down immediately.

Oh well. Carl needed to wash and find clean clothes anyway. He left the room to go to the bathroom and spent the next half hour in the soothing pattern of his morning routine. _Wash your body, say your prayers, go do God's work._ His belongings - what little he had - were still in his saddle bags. He'd thrown them into a corner when they'd arrived from Budapest. Anna had been alive then and raring to go fight Dracula. It was a weird feeling.

He grabbed some fresh clothes and dressed. God, when had he last felt clean and rested? He couldn't really remember.

At the foot of the stairs he hesitated. He knew that sooner or later he had to go to her room and take care of Anna, but his stomach was growling loudly and he felt almost queasy with hunger. It seemed disrespectful to sit down and have breakfast while upstairs the lady of the house lay on her bed bloody and dirty and very dead. However, it was probably more disrespectful to faint on top of her, so Carl went to the kitchen and found some bread and cherry jam. The bread was stale and the jam cloyingly sweet. He didn't eat much.

Anna looked like she had when he'd left her: too young, too pale, too still. All the vibrant energy that had been so much a part of her was gone and that, more than anything, drove home that there would be no coming back for her, no last minute miracle. The last of the Valeriouses had died on the battlefield, in the hour of the family's greatest triumph. They had fulfilled their oath; Dracula was dead. This time, the devil would have one hell of a time trying to bring him back.

He cried for her then; cried for the life she'd led and the life she'd lost and he cried for Gabriel, who had survived but would carry the scars of the past weeks until the day he died. Maybe he also cried for himself, because he was such a different man now from the energetic, still somewhat naïve young friar who'd left Rome more than a month before. When he had finished crying he blew his nose, said a quick prayer, and went to work.

A good hour passed before a noise from the doorway broke Carl's concentration. He looked up, expecting Gabriel, and found himself staring at Frankenstein's monster instead. "How did you find us?" he asked, too numb to feel much surprise.

The monster shifted uncomfortably. "I followed you," it admitted. Silence reigned for a minute or two. The monster cleared its throat. "I just wanted to make sure you were fine."

Carl glanced down at the dead woman on the bed. "She died," he said, feeling a bit stupid for pointing out the obvious. "I could use some help dressing her." He had already cut away the torn and gory clothes she'd worn and had washed her until even the last speck of dirt and blood was gone, but handling a dead body wasn't easy and he'd wondered how to best go about redressing her.

With shuffling steps and the hiss of its hydraulic leg brace, the monster approached the bed and took in the sight of the almost unmarked body. "How did she die?"

Good question. Carl grabbed a pair of black pants from the dresser and motioned for the monster to lift Anna's right leg. "She made a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

Second leg. The monster lifted Anna's hips and Carl gently pulled the pants up and fastened them while he thought about his answer. "As far as I can tell, she rushed in where she should've treaded softly," he offered slowly.

The bulky head nodded wisely. "Ahhh."

They didn't talk again until they were done and Anna was dressed in her usual attire from the soft blouse with the floral pattern to the high heeled boots. Carl had already washed her hair and the monster combed it until the dark curls fell around her shoulders in lustrous waves. They even armed her, for she seemed incomplete without her weapons.

"Let's go make some tea," Carl suggested.

It was time to wake Van Helsing.

* * *

As it turned out, Gabriel was already awake. When they entered the kitchen - Carl in the lead and the monster trudging after him like a zombified pet dog - they were greeted by the aroma of strong, black tea and fresh bread. Gabriel looked up from where he was fighting a losing battle with the teapot and gave them a wan smile. "Good morning. Want some breakfast?"

It was a decidedly surreal meal. Van Helsing showed a notable lack of surprise at the sight of the monster and treated it with a distant friendliness that made Carl suspect the other man had known about its presence all along. Apparently, while Carl had become familiar enough to be able to slip under the assassin's guard, big, reanimated corpses triggered those finely-tuned alarms all right. He wondered how long Gabriel had been up and about. Long enough to clean up and get dressed, obviously. Had he gone looking for Carl? Did he know that Anna was prepared for her last journey? Had he baked the bread himself? It was awfully good.

Gabriel put his teaspoon down and glared at him, though by his standards it was a very mild glare. "Stop staring at me like that." Carl stared at the bread. "Stop staring at the bread, too," Gabriel ordered, a faint smile in his voice. "I didn't make it."

Now that was... "Then who did?"

With a sigh, Gabriel leaned back in his chair. "Two women from the village. They worked for Anna, cooked, did the laundry..." He scowled at his cup as if it knew all the mysteries of housekeeping and didn't share. "I told them Dracula's dead and we're going to take Anna's body with us." He looked up then and lifted his chin, almost as if daring Carl to protest. "She said she always wanted to see the sea. She deserves to get there at least once."

Well, the villagers probably wouldn't be too happy about that and the Vatican might not be delighted either, but Carl thought it was a nice idea. Surprisingly sentimental for a man like Van Helsing, but then, maybe not. Gabriel took care of people; it was as much a part of him as the relentless drive to fight evil wherever he found it. It was a shame he felt the need to be so defensive about it.

"I'll get the carriage ready," Carl said mildly and took another sip of tea.

Gabriel started to scowl until the message sank in and the prickly comeback he'd obviously prepared in case of opposition never left his mouth. His surprised blink made Carl smirk just a little bit.

Frankenstein's monster, oblivious to the undercurrents running through the conversation, cleared its throat. "What can I do?"

"You can ride in the carriage with Carl." Gabriel's tone was even; if not for the white-knuckled grip he had on his cup, Carl might've thought he was as calm as he pretended to be. "Won't attract unwanted attention that way."

This inevitably led to another question, one that Carl was loath to bring up. However, somebody had to, so, twisting a piece of bread nervously, he turned towards the monster. "So... uh... what are your plans anyway? I mean... after... ah... where will you go?"

Silence fell upon the table for a few long, uncomfortable minutes. Finally, the monster shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know yet. I thought, maybe... but that's not possible, is it? No sanctuary for monsters in the Vatican."

"Not in the Vatican, no," Van Helsing said quietly, thoughtfully, "but there are a few safe havens for people who are... unusual."

It was Carl's turn to blink in surprise. It wasn't only that he hadn't known about the existence of such refuges - there were a lot of things Carl didn't know, as he was well aware - but the fact that Gabriel Van Helsing knew, and, even more surprising, seemed to approve, was startling. Somehow Carl would've thought Van Helsing were much more likely to burn places that harbored fugitive monsters to the ground. Frankenstein's creation seemed to share his astonishment, because it was staring at the assassin so hard it squinted and accidentally crushed its teacup in its mighty fist.

Gabriel raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What? You think I spent the last couple of years traveling all over the world with my eyes closed? I fight evil; I don't hurt innocents... even if they're not human."

The monster didn't seem quite sure whether to take the last comment as a statement of fact or an insult until it caught Van Helsing's gaze, then it nodded slowly. "So you know a place where I'd be welcome?"

"I know that a boat leaves from a small village near Blatnica every two months, the night after the full moon." Van Helsing carefully didn't look at Carl or the monster but focused on his cup instead. "I know it's crewed by sailors who've been around longer than they should and that they take on passengers that need a lot of privacy. They smuggle all kinds of things - it's how they turn a profit - but I've been close enough to them to know they aren't evil. As far as I know they make stops in Alexandria and Tangier. There are safe havens near both places. Sometimes they go as far as the Caribbean. Nice place to lose oneself." He tossed back the rest of his tea and stood up abruptly. "It's your choice."

Stunned, the monster thought about the unexpected options while Carl watched Van Helsing pace the kitchen and come to a halt in front of the window. He seemed tense, though it was hard to say whether his discomfort came from actively assisting his target in its escape or if he simply wanted to get going.

Into the quiet, the monster asked tentatively, "Can we make it? It's more than a day's ride and tonight's the last night of the full moon."

Van Helsing turned back around and shrugged. "We still have the carriage and the horses we got in Budapest. If we leave within the hour, we should be able to make it to a spot just south of Blatnica where we can intercept the ship. You'll have to swim or row for it, but if we signal, they'll drop anchor and wait."

Frankenstein's monster frowned. "You know the appropriate signal?"

For a second, those dark eyes flickered towards Carl with an inscrutable expression. "I do."

"How?"

Uh oh. Cliffs ahead. It was high time to put a stop to this discussion. Carl could sense Gabriel's reluctance to speak about this issue - the body language wasn't subtle - and wanted to give his friend a break. "Though I have to admit I'd love to hear the answer to this-" and he would, sooner or later, "-I don't think it's really the point now." He nodded towards the ticking kitchen clock. "It's almost noon. We better get moving - we still have to hitch up the carriage, stow our luggage, and put Anna into a shroud." They also had to figure out how to fit the body into the carriage. It wasn't a hearse; it was made for transporting the living and not the dead.

Not for the first time, Gabriel seemed to read his mind. "We can wrap her in linen and place her on top of the coach," he suggested, his voice steady as a rock. "We'll use the spare reins from her old carriage to fasten her to the top baggage rails." His jaw clenched briefly. "The cold will help keep her... fresh... too."

Harsh, but true.

There was nothing more to say, so they packed up the bread and some preserves, a piece of hard bacon and several bottles of apple cider, then split up to get the rest of the chores done as quickly as possible. Gabriel disappeared through the corridor that led to the Valeriouses' impressive armory to collect the rarest and most useful weapons so they wouldn't be mysteriously "lost". With Anna's death, the family possessions fell to the Vatican to be used in the war, but it would be weeks before the church representatives would arrive in Transylvania to secure the place.

Carl went to grab his and Van Helsing's bags as well as the most important books from the library. They probably weren't in as much danger of being stolen as the weapons, but it would be a shame to find them gone and likely used to light a fire in some illiterate peasant's hearth. Carl had no delusions about human nature; the villagers might keep away from the mansion for a few days out of respect for the ancient Valerious bloodline, but in the end they'd come and loot the house.

They met again in the stable, where Frankenstein's monster had prepared the carriage and was now trying to persuade the horses to let it harness them. The two remaining Transylvanian blacks of the Valerious stock were already in place, chewing idly at their bits, but the Hungarian studs weren't as trusting. Gabriel watched the creature's futile attempts for a minute or two with the same air of morbid fascination Carl felt at the somewhat bizarre scene, then he blinked, shook himself, and intervened.

"C'mon. You take care of the luggage, we'll get the horses." He was already marching past the monster when he said this; completely confident the other would obey his orders. With a disgusted grunt, the monster did, handling the heavy bags with an ease that made Carl glad it was on their side.

They worked in companionable silence; the monster stowed the luggage and checked the old leather reins they were going to use to secure Anna's body for weak spots, while Gabriel and Carl brushed the nervous studs then maneuvered them into position and hitched them up. Not for the first time Carl couldn't help but notice the easy way Gabriel had with horses. He greeted the dark mount that had carried him to Transylvania that first time with gentle murmurs, taking the time to pet it for a bit before leading it to the front. It was a smart move, to put the big gelding in the lead - they knew and trusted each other and the horse would help Gabriel to keep the other, rather temperamental, steeds under control. Not that they'd give Van Helsing much trouble, judging from the way they nuzzled his shoulders and pricked their ears whenever he spoke to them. Not that Carl could blame them, really. If Gabriel had purred into his ears as he did into the studs', Carl would've done his best to crawl into his lap, too.

They had to leave three of the Hungarian horses and Carl's gelding behind, because eight horses was the maximum the tack allowed and Van Helsing didn't want to bother with tying them to the carriage and have them run along. He had already told the two women to clean out the pantries in the house, close the shutters, lock the doors and take care of the livestock after the Hunters were gone, so the animals would be fine. They'd probably end up in some farmer's stable after a while anyhow.

Only when everything else had been done and the coach was ready and parked in front of the mansion did Van Helsing go back into the house to collect Anna. He refused the monster's offer to move her, but allowed Carl to help him wrap her into clean linen before he carried her down the stairs and across the yard to the waiting carriage. He had no choice then but to give her up to Frankenstein's creation; there was simply no way he could lift her onto the top of the carriage all by himself.

An hour before midday, they left Anna's home for the last time, taking her to meet the sea.

* * *

Except for the fact that Gabriel drove like a henchman, racing their team of overexcited steeds along icy roads that were little more than deer paths, across creaking bridges and steep, rocky mountain passes, it was an uneventful trip. Mostly, Carl and the monster sat opposite each other on the hard leather benches inside the coach in shared misery. Carl, who had never gotten seasick on a ship, started to feel conspicuously queasy after the first hour or so and even the monster looked greener than it had before. They missed Anna's driving desperately, something they'd never thought possible while she'd still been alive.

They crossed the border to Bulgaria some time during the night, but didn't stop until clouds started to build and hid the moon. At long last, Van Helsing had to admit that even his excellent night vision couldn't make up for the loss of their pale light source and he brought the panting horses to a halt at the side of the road. Carl assisted in freeing and hobbling the beasts, but couldn't persuade his friend to lie down and sleep. "I'll rest later," Gabriel insisted and pulled his thick leather coat tighter around his body.

Carl had learned to tell when he could press the issue and when he couldn't; he grabbed his blankets from the coach and stretched out near the carriage where he could keep an eye on the haunted man who paced the perimeters of their improvised camp like a caged animal. The last thing he registered before he dropped off was that the cold winds that hissed across the winter-barren land felt like icy claws on his skin even through layers of wool and cloth.

He woke up the next morning shortly before sunrise feeling unusually warm and comfortable, his face squashed against a soft, gray pullover and the rest of him safely ensconced in Gabriel's arms and the folds of his long coat. He snuffled, still trapped in the fuzzy space between sleep and wakefulness, and smiled drowsily when he breathed in the unique scent he'd come to associate with his friend; a tangy mixture of leather, horse, smoke and sweat suffused with the musky, earthy smell that was pure Gabriel.

"Are you awake?" Gabriel whispered; a bare breath of a sound. Carl nodded reluctantly, then squawked in indignation when the arm that had pillowed his head was rudely withdrawn and his personal human oven rolled away from him with a heartfelt "Oh, thank the Lord!" and scrambled up and away. However, his annoyance quickly turned into amusement when he heard hurried steps, some fumbling and cursing, and then the sounds of somebody relieving himself with a gasp of gratitude. He grinned, winced in sympathy, and scuttled out from under his blankets to join Van Helsing in his endeavor to create a new river before they moved on.

Frankenstein's monster watched them with a look of superiority on its face.

Bladderless bastard.

* * *

They reached Blatnica late in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day selling the carriage and all but two horses, stocking up on supplies and arranging for the books and weapons to be shipped to Italy. Gabriel had decided to take the long way back to Rome and didn't want to be weighed down by avoidable bulk. They also acquired a few necessities for the monster: two large, hooded cloaks (one warm, one light), an oilskin, a pair of pants that might just fit, provisions to last it at least until Alexandria, knife, sewing kit, soap and towel, a slightly rusty pair of sunglasses to protect its eyes from the glaring African (or Caribbean) sun if it bent the small metal frame so it fit its gargantuan head, and a lantern so they could signal the ship. Carl added a dog-eared Bible he found in a small store and two other books - one about medicine, one a harlequin novel - Van Helsing a short sword and a pistol plus ammunition, just in case. He also slipped in a bag of sweets when he thought Carl wasn't looking.

When it grew dark, Gabriel mounted his gelding and waited until the creature had handed Anna's body up into his arms, then led the way to a small cove a good two miles south of the small town. They left Anna and the horses on top of the cliffs and went down to the beach with the monster. It took them the better part of the night to assemble a makeshift raft, but by the time the moon had wandered across the night sky and Gabriel's keen eyes spotted the ship, their work was all but done. Van Helsing lit the lamp and started to signal until a green light flared up in the pre-dawn gloom.

"That's it," he said, apparently satisfied with the result. "They'll wait for you and take you on board." He shoved a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather bag, which he pushed into the monster's hand. He cleared his throat. "You'll need that to pay the fare." His voice was gruff. "Don't try to squabble; the price is fair and there's enough money to cover it."

His gesture stunned the monster speechless; but not for long. "I won't forget you," it told them fiercely. "Go with God, my friends."

"Stay out of trouble." Gabriel's smile was a little tense - his right hand was trapped by the monster's enormous paws and he clearly didn't like that - but his gaze was warm when it met the creature's watery stare. "Take care of yourself."

"Remember, people aren't generally bad, they're just uninformed," Carl assured their unsightly new friend. "You just have to find someone who doesn't scare easy-"

"-and doesn't shoot first and ask questions later," Van Helsing added dryly.

"-and you'll be fine," Carl finished with a withering glance into Gabriel's direction. He gave the monster a quick hug and smiled happily when it was carefully returned.

Watching the monster paddle off on its pitiful float felt a bit like abandoning a puppy, but the sun was about to rise and they still had a funeral to arrange.

They followed a winded path up into the hills, through a deserted orchard, and finally walked their horses along a windswept trail that ran parallel to the edge of the land. Carl could hear the waves crash against the cliffs and smell the sea, but for once he didn't care. His attention was focused entirely on the man who rode in front of him, his back stiff as a board, broad shoulders straight and tense. Gabriel was still cradling Anna to his chest, though his arms must be getting tired. They had discarded the shroud and placed her sideways on the saddle before him, so now she sat facing the endless expanse of water, her long curls moving gently in the breeze.

The place Gabriel chose for the pyre was beautiful. It was covered in long, dry grass that looked golden in the light of the rising sun and overlooked the sea, suspended between water and sky. The men tethered their mounts and worked silently together to build Anna's last bed. They filled it with dry straw from a nearby barn and braced it with twigs and branches, then lifted her up and placed her on top of the mound. The cold had preserved her beauty, and - dressed in her hunting outfit with her soft, dark locks stirring slightly in a current of air - she looked as if she were merely asleep; an enchanted princess waiting for the kiss to wake her.

The last kiss that touched Anna Valerious' skin was one of fire as Gabriel Van Helsing lit the pyre. He turned to stare at the sky while Carl read from the bible and sent her to Heaven with the old, familiar "ashes to ashes, dust to dust". Gabriel's tall, leather-clad form seemed strangely dreamlike in the soft morning light; dark, motionless, unbroken.

The blaze was bright and hot and it left nothing of Anna but bone fragments and the charred remains of her weapons. The wind picked up her ashes and carried them out over the sea; Gabriel and Carl collected what was left and buried it in the hard earth before they got back into the saddles and rode off into the western darkness together.

Neither of them looked back.

* * *

Driven by grief and a vicious tempest that howled down from the northeast like the ghost of a betrayed beast, the two riders thundered across the bleak, frozen country without break and no word exchanged between them. It was afternoon by the time the continually worsening weather conditions and their horses' exhaustion forced them to slow their maddened run and search for shelter.

Carl honestly thought he wasn't going to make it. He _knew_ he was going to turn into an ice statue right there in the saddle, his legs pressed to the shivering, sopping wet sides of his rangy gray stud, his fingers forever frozen around the clammy leather reins. The chill had long since seeped through his skin and flesh and was now saturating his very bones. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore or his ears or nose, and his toes surely resembled those of the Roman marble sculptures now, all white and stiff and cold.

Van Helsing's hardy black gelding trudged ahead wearily. Clouds of steam rose from its soggy coat and ice crystals had formed on the wiry hairs at the end of its tail and around its muzzle. The massive, plate-sized hooves crunched down on hardened mud and iced-over snow drifts with stoic endurance, ever obedient to its master's commands. Gabriel had all but disappeared into his coat; the dripping slouch hat was tugged down to ward off the worst of the cold and shield his face from the sleet that had started to pelt them for the last half hour or so. Covered in his armor of black leather and with the stiff, unyielding set of his shoulders and back he looked as relentless and unstoppable as the storm itself. Carl would've given his right arm for the power to make the illusion reality.

They found the house by accident. The wind broke off a branch from a tree just as Carl rode past and the severed limb slapped his mount soundly on the rump. Startled despite its fatigue, the gray shied to the side and broke through a thicket of spiny, frost-covered bushes. With a curse that would've made a sailor blush, Carl pulled himself back into an upright position and yanked at the reins to communicate his displeasure. The stud snorted and pranced rebelliously, but settled down soon enough. It was simply too tired to put up much fuss.

A black horse face pushed through the splintered shrubbery right next to them, followed closely by the rest of the gelding and its rider, who was pale but didn't seem overly concerned. With most other people Carl would've been miffed at the apparent lack of worry, but from Van Helsing he took it as a compliment. Gabriel was confident in Carl's ability to deal with a spooked stallion, just as he'd never doubted the inexperienced friar would keep his head in a fight. It was a sign of a kind of respect that wasn't granted to many people.

"What happened?" Gabriel asked.

"The damn storm broke off a damn branch and it smacked my damn horse and it jumped into the damn bushes," Carl summed up the tragic interlude. He sniffed tiredly. "Any idea how far we are from the nearest village? I need a break. I wouldn't mind a warm bed and a hot drink either while we're at it. I think I might've frozen off something important." He shuddered.

Gabriel shook his head, suddenly very interested in their surroundings. "I'm not sure. I think I missed the turn."

Wait... "You missed the turn? We're lost? You're _Gabriel Van-fucking-Helsing_ , you can't get lost!" Really, wasn't there some kind of cosmic law about elite Vatican killers coming with an innate sense of direction, like birds or bees?

A baleful glare from beneath the brim of his hat was Carl's only reply.

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" Carl huffed when it became apparent that Gabriel wasn't going to defend his dented honor. "We're going to freeze to death somewhere in the arsecrack of Bulgaria, because you're too stubborn to ask for directions!"

That got a reaction. "Who the hell could I have asked? We haven't met a living soul for hours!"

"You could've..." Carl stopped, for the first time taking in their surroundings, too. "Wait, are these cart ruts? D'you think they might lead to a farmhouse or something?"

Gabriel frowned, but obediently changed tracks mentally and focused on the ground. "Looks like an old road." He turned around in the saddle and stared at the main path, barely visible through the scrub. "If it leads to a house, it's almost certainly deserted. I don't think anybody's been down this way for a long while, there's just too much growth here."

Carl thought about it for a minute. The wind was icy, the falling sleet was slowly turning into snow, and the cloud cover was so thick it might as well have been evening. They were both at the end of their strength, their mounts weren't much better, and none of them would survive sleeping outside tonight. Well, Gabriel might. He'd proven remarkably hard to kill in the past and would probably outlive them all.

The nearest settlement might be just behind the next bend in the road, or it might be several hours away. Carl's bet was on "several hours away". They hadn't seen a sign of human civilization since they'd passed a tiny village west of Blatnica. At least at the end of this trail there might be some kind of building where they could find protection from the elements. They had to find shelter soon, needed to get warm and rest for a bit. He weighed the risks one more time then nodded decisively. "Let's go this way."

He hadn't expected much of an argument and he didn't get one. Van Helsing simply nodded as if he'd come to the same conclusions as Carl or didn't care either way and pushed his horse forward into the forest. Carl followed.

As it turned out, the track led through a narrow valley between the hills to a gentle hollow. There, nestled between a rock face and a copse of tall fir trees, stood the blackened skeleton of what once must have been an impressive little castle. They drew closer carefully, taking in the marks of battle that were all over the place: holes punched into the solid stone walls, windows shattered along with their shutters from the outside as well as from the inside, what looked like huge claw marks on the wooden door and along the front wall.

Eyes wide, the cold almost forgotten at the sight before them, Carl inspected a pattern of grooves and pockmarks in the roughly hewn granite slabs that covered the lower half of the building. The stains looked like they might've been caused by acid, but he didn't know of any kind of acid that could burn into stone like this.

"Manticore blood," Gabriel said quietly. "They must've killed it from above and the splatters hit the wall."

Carl shuddered as his overactive brain promptly delivered a graphic speculation about what such a liquid would do to a living being, but couldn't quite shut up the arsenal designer in him who immediately wondered about the potential of manticore blood as a chemical weapon. Was there a way to harvest and store the apparently highly acidic substance safely? How did it react with other chemicals? Was it poisonous, too? How fast did it congeal? Did it congeal? Maybe it evaporated...

"If you think I'm gonna go out and get you a sample, think again." Van Helsing's warning had an amused ring to it, but also held enough threat to make it abundantly clear he meant it.

"What do you think happened here?" Carl asked, deeming it wise to change the topic before his traitorous tongue could start wheedling. He was quite sure he could persuade his friend to try and get him some blood so he could do his experiments, but now wasn't the time.

Van Helsing's eyes darkened for a second as a shadow of almost-remembrance flowed through the depths of his gaze, but he must have failed in his attempt to grasp it, because he had to shake his head in defeat. "I don't know. These marks are at least a year old, maybe more. Whoever fought here is long gone. There's nobody left to tell the tale." He nodded towards the entrance portal. "I'll get this open so we can get the horses inside. See if you can find a well or something. We need water."

The habitually pragmatic tone of his voice broke the spell - Carl pushed back his curiosity and moved to his appointed tasks with alacrity. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could sit down and thaw out and eat something. Who knew? Gabriel might get chatty and tell him more about the manticore blood.

* * *

The fire was warm, the tea was hot, and Carl was reasonably happy for the first time since he'd last woken up in Gabriel's arms. They'd taken care of the horses, fed them their emergency ration of oats, and left them to roam the big entrance hall. The last time he'd seen them, his gray had rolled around on a plush carpet and Gabriel's black had nosed at a broken coat of arms.

The room the men had chosen for themselves was a middle-sized corner room with a big fireplace (blocked with a massive iron grate so nothing bigger than a beetle could get in or out), faded tapestries covering the stone walls, and no furniture except for a blood-stained settee and a table full of ammunition. The window pane, shutters and doors were still intact though and there was no fire damage, so Carl had hauled one of the big mattresses from a torn-up bedroom and a few moth-eaten blankets from another and created a comfortable nest on the floor. Neither of them had questioned his assumption that they were going to share the bed.

All in all, Carl was as content as he could be outside a laboratory. He took another sip of tea and closed his eyes in bliss. "Oh, that's good. I think I might rejoin the living. I can't believe you actually brought along that jar of honey! Great. Tastes like heaven. You sure you don't want some?" Gabriel didn't respond and Carl dragged his eyelids up again and looked at him over the rim of his cup. "Van Helsing? Gabriel? - Honey?"

A slow, unfocused blink was his only reply. Gabriel had stripped down to his pants and pullover earlier and hung up the rest of his clothes to dry. He sat hunched over on the thick hearth rug, his own cup of tea sitting forgotten on the floor beside him. Dark tangles of damp hair fell over his shoulders and hid half his face. He was loosely hugging himself as if trying to force more warmth into his body, but relaxed as it seemed, something about his posture made Carl straighten up suddenly and pay attention. "Gabriel?"

Again that slow blink. Carl's heart picked up speed. He leaned forward, gaze fixed on Van Helsing. Those dark eyes tracked his approach with a detached sort of interest, but the man didn't move. As he drew closer, the friar noticed with alarm the shallow breathing and the faint flush on his friend's cheeks and he realized belatedly he'd never gotten to check the injuries Gabriel had sustained in his fight with Dracula. He'd noted how stiffly Gabriel moved, how carefully straight he held himself, but hadn't connected the dots until now. "Damn it," he whispered. Fear and a measure of exasperation threatened to make his voice sharp and loud, but he fought them down impatiently and kept his tone soft for his friend's sake. "You're hurt, aren't you? And you didn't tell me - _again_ \- you stupid bugger."

He was so close, leaning over the tired figure of the Hunter, Gabriel had to tilt his head back to look at him. He did it without hesitation, a gesture so full of instinctive trust it would've gripped Carl's heart and squeezed if he hadn't been so worried. Sharp mind working overtime, Carl mentally replayed the small winces and indicators of unease Gabriel had shown since they'd left Transylvania. "Cracked ribs?" he hazarded. "Twisted your shoulder? Headache?" He thought of the needle stabbed into the Wolf's belly and the antidote. "Stomach-ache? Sore joints? Muscle spasms?" Gabriel nodded wordlessly. " _What_?" Carl insisted. "Either? Some? The lot?"

"The lot." And, dear Lord, he sounded so pitiful right then Carl's justified anger at having been kept in the dark again faded to a faint itch of frustration.

The much deserved lecture could wait until Gabriel was healed enough to appreciate it in all its glory. Carl sighed. "Let's get you out of that pullover." He tugged at the clammy material. Van Helsing didn't so much as lift a finger to help him. This wasn't going to work. "I know it hurts," Carl said gently, "but if you don't lift your arms, I can't get this off you. You don't want me to _cut_ it off, do you?"

Slowly, cautiously, Gabriel moved one arm. His hand rose to Carl's face, hovered there for a heartbeat, then delicately touched the friar's stubbly cheek. Carl froze. A calloused thumb stroked over his skin with almost painful gentleness. Carl didn't dare move for fear of startling the other man. More confident now, Gabriel started to trace his features with curious fingers, little butterfly caresses that made Carl's spirit soar with their unexpected sweetness. This... whatever this was... was no casual kindness, nor the innocent touch between two friends. It felt like a question. It felt like an answer. It felt like a kiss that wasn't yet born.

Gabriel's gaze trapped his with burning intensity. "As far as I remember... as far as my body remembers... I have never before turned my back on anybody and fallen asleep in their presence unarmed." His thumb tickled the corner of Carl's mouth with another tiny caress. "I have never trusted a researcher above a warrior. I have never shown weakness in front of another man and not paid the price for it later." He shivered. "Don't make me regret this."

Carl had to swallow down a sudden lump in his throat at the hoarse plea. He wanted to reassure Gabriel that he would never hurt him, would rather kill himself than harm the battered heart so unexpectedly entrusted into his care. His lips trembled with the desire to open and shower Gabriel with words of love and devotion, promises and vows he had every intention to keep. He found he couldn't. Words had been used to deceive and manipulate his friend before. Promises came cheap and were too easily broken.

He'd never been as scared as when he turned his face into the cradling hand and placed a kiss to Gabriel's palm. There was just so much potential for being hurt through this, for both of them... and yet he knew he'd rather risk the devastation of failure than deny them both this chance.

Gabriel trembled. "Carl?" How could such a broken voice carry so much hope?

"Let me have a look at your injuries," Carl whispered. _Slow_ , his mind sang, _take this slow. Don't rush this. Don't rush him._ "I can't stand the thought of you in pain." And that was true on so many levels not even he could fathom the extent of his feelings.

That anxious gaze never left him as he helped Gabriel undress. Seeing the bruises and scrapes that marred the already badly scarred body, and the still tender bite wound on his left pectoral, Carl had to grind his teeth to keep from giving his far too self-reliant friend a piece of his mind. He said nothing, but his glare made Van Helsing duck his head and smile a little. "I'm hardly in any danger of dying here, Carl. I've had worse."

"I suppose I will write that on your tombstone one day," Carl grumbled, only half in jest.

"Will you plant a big bunch of forget-me-nots, too?"

Oh, wasn't he hilarious. Carl glared. "You're supposed to apologize and promise you'll stop being so damn reckless."

Silence.

Carl's eyes narrowed. "Gabriel."

"I apologize. I'll try not to get hurt again."

"Thank you." Carl smiled. Now, that hadn't been so hard, had it? He leaned over, grabbed his bag and fished the large jar of healing balm out from where he'd kept it safe between his clothes. "Brother Leonard's secret recipe," he explained as he unscrewed the top and let Gabriel take an apprehensive sniff. "Stop pulling faces, it smells quite good. Lots of herbs in there." He inhaled delicately, trying to identify some of the ingredients. "Hmmm... Comfrey, sage, chamomile... Could be worse, don't you think?"

Despite his less than thrilled reaction to the medicine, Gabriel allowed himself to be maneuvered left and right and finally got to his feet awkwardly so Carl could rub some salve onto the deep scrapes on his hip. Gabriel's cock twitched as the fingers lingered. Before he knew what he was doing, Carl found his hand stroking down the silken shaft, which rose to meet him eagerly. Gabriel drew a breath that sounded very much like a moan. His hand came to rest on Carl's head and stroked his hair tenderly.

They stayed like this for a while; Carl crouched on the rug, gently working Gabriel's growing erection with slick fingers and greedily soaking up the sight of that strong, gorgeous body as it stood before him swaying faintly; Gabriel with his eyes closed and head thrown back. Even from the awkward angle Carl could see the expression of bliss on the handsome face. He smiled. It felt wonderful to touch Gabriel so intimately, to stroke his cock and massage his balls and to finally venture further, to the little opening that had filled so many of his dreams... to know Gabriel not only allowed the contact but enjoyed it, almost craved it, if the way he clung to Carl was any indication.

Gabriel whimpered when he was breached ever so slowly. He shifted a little, spread his legs wider, and had to brace his knees against Carl's shoulders when they apparently threatened to give out. He shuddered helplessly when Carl couldn't resist any longer and began to use his mouth on him, licking and kissing and sucking heartily while his fingers were busy exploring.

Only when Gabriel started to get a little too close to the edge did Carl let go of him with a last gentle rub against the slicked ring of muscle. He stood up with a small grimace as the blood flow returned to his legs. Ouch. Should've remembered to make himself more comfortable before he got lost in the pleasure of reducing his usually so tightly controlled friend to a shaking bundle of nerves.

As cold as he'd been before; he was burning up now. His heavy robes clung to his shoulders like broken wings and he shrugged them off without regret. He'd never been particularly self-conscious about his body - he might not be as tall or powerful as Van Helsing, but he was lean and strong and wholly at ease with his sexuality. He'd known too many "deviants" who were genuinely gentle and kind and doing God's work to believe the Church's claim that sodomy was a sin. If God hadn't wanted humans to feel pleasure when they joined their bodies, he would not have given them the ability to feel it. The devil might seduce individual persons, but he hadn't created mankind with all its beauty and flaws and he certainly couldn't be held responsible for this.

Feeling a lot more comfortable without the heavy cloth weighing him down, Carl turned back to Gabriel and found him sitting on his haunches on the mattress, eyes wide and hungry and so full of emotion Carl almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get to him. Gabriel caught him in his arms and pressed his head against Carl's belly as he'd done that night in the Valerious mansion. This time, there was nothing between the frail flutter of his breath and the friar's over-sensitized skin, no barrier to lessen the impact the gesture had on Carl.

Here was the strongest man he'd ever known, killer and saint in one tightly muscled package, grim soldier who'd faced down creatures from the deepest pits of Hell, who'd defied Dracula's will and the moon's call and had beaten the world's most powerful vampire on his own turf; on his knees before a young friar with perpetually bad hair and no power but the sharpness of his mind. Not because he was forced to submit or had broken, but of his own choice; because Gabriel Van Helsing desired him... loved him.

It was a thoroughly humbling experience.

His knees gave out then and Carl sank down until he was on a level with Gabriel. He clutched the man to him and a tidal wave of protectiveness rushed through him at the sensation of bare skin and solid muscle pressing against him. Without the dark clothes and portable arsenal, Gabriel felt a lot more human than usual and alarmingly vulnerable. They'd known each other for almost seven years, though not very well - usually, Van Helsing had popped in to collect one weapon or another and Carl had been too busy explaining the technical details while trying not to drool too noticeably over the oblivious assassin to make much conversation - but if anybody had told Carl two months before that one day he'd kneel in a battle-marked room in a deserted castle somewhere in Eastern Europe holding on to a naked Gabriel Van Helsing and seriously considering whether he might be able to construct a weapon devastating enough to blow up Hell and relieve Gabriel of his burden, he'd have laughed at such lunacy. He wasn't laughing now. He was thinking of glycerin and manticore blood and mirror portals and trying to make the equation pan out.

"Carl?" Gabriel's voice was muffled against his neck, but the edgy tone made Carl draw back from his grim calculations immediately.

"Yes, Gabriel?"

"If you don't stop squeezing my bruises, I'm gonna give you some."

Bruises? Bruises. Bruises! As in: bruises all over Gabriel's poor abused body, the one he was currently crushing to his chest with enough force to make his own breathing difficult. Carl yelped and let go so abruptly Gabriel lost his balance and almost took them both down.

"Jesus," the Hunter moaned when he'd regained his equilibrium. He flopped down on his back to prevent further accidents and easily pulled Carl into his arms. "Life with you isn't going to be dull, is it?"

Carl's brain seemed to have developed a fondness for parroting Gabriel. Life with him? Life with- a grin started to stretch his face. Trust Gabriel to drop something like this casually like a comment about the weather. Well, two could play that game. "Does that mean you'll get me some manticore blood for testing?" he teased, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone as light as his words.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and hugged him closer. "No. I'm dedicated, not stupid." The still half-hard column of his cock nestled hopefully against Carl's side.

"Oh." Carl pretended to think about it while rewarding the minute undulations of Gabriel's hips with gentle nudges of his own. "Can I have a kiss then?"

"I don't know." Gabriel smirked. "Do monks kiss?"

"Friar," Car reminded him with a cheeky grin. "Remember? It means I can swear all I want." And, for good measure and old times' sake, added, "Damn it."

God, he loved that playful sparkle in Gabriel's dark eyes. "Swearing is one thing, Friar Carl." A large hand skimmed up his back and neck and tangled in his hair. "Sodomizing another servant of the Vatican quite another."

The fingers marched up his skull and began to massage his scalp with indecent skill. "First of all," Carl spat out with all the resolve he could muster in the face of the erotic tingles that went up and down his spine thanks to the combination of that talented hand and the build-up of friction between their leisurely rocking bodies, "Sodomites are men. All men are God's children. I don't think He makes mistakes." He bowed his head into Gabriel's caresses and fought the urge to purr. "Two: we don't serve the Vatican; we serve God; even if we temporarily take our orders from the Vatican. The Vatican supposedly serves God, too. Ergo I don't give a rat's ass about what the _Church_ thinks about my choice of lover. And three..." He lost his train of thought when Gabriel cradled the back of his head and pushed.

Whiskers, rough. Lips, soft. Tongue, wet.

Sweet Lord up in Heaven, the man could kiss. He tasted like tea - no honey, Gabriel didn't like honey, he'd brought the honey along for Carl alone - and he tasted like Gabriel and faintly of blood. Carl's mind stuttered something about wet, hot, tight places and sodomizing a servant of the Vatican, then did the bright thing and buggered off to join his libido in its endless chorus of

 _mine mine mine, take take take now_

...and Carl was on top of Gabriel, his tongue mapping the man's oral cavity zealously, and he was pushing Gabriel's knees apart so he could settle between his thighs, could play with that nicely eager cock, roll those velvety plump testicles, reach that inviting arse.

A strong hand joined his, slippery fingers guiding him, and he moaned into the greedy mouth that refused to let him interrupt the kiss so he could see what he was doing. Or was he the one who wouldn't, _couldn't_ let go? Frankly, he didn't give a damn.

He jerked when Gabriel grabbed his cock and treated it to a few firm, knowledgeable strokes to spread a slick substance - must be the healing salve, he thought disjointedly - over him before he gave his permission for invasive action with an encouraging pat on Carl's backside. With their lips still sealed together, it was quite a feat to aim his cock and hold it steady so he could slide into Gabriel and at the same time keep from toppling over, but Carl was determined.

Then Gabriel lifted his butt and angled his hips and Carl pushed and breached Gabriel's body with a hard thrust and they both threw their heads back and cried out.

Coming home had never felt this good.

* * *

In the course of the next few hours Carl discovered the following:

Gabriel might be the strong and silent type under normal circumstances, but in bed he was a moaner. He wasn't loud; he didn't need to be. Every sigh and mewl and gasp fanned over Carl's senses like an angel's touch.

Gabriel was also a toucher. Carl had never before been with anybody so hungry for contact. Every caress, every whisper of skin against skin made him arch and writhe and seek more, and when they were finally too exhausted to go on, Gabriel twined around his lover and held him close, his face buried against Carl's shoulder.

Gabriel made love with his eyes open. Sometimes only a dark amber glint might be visible under long lashes, but even then Carl could feel the welcome weight of that changeable gaze. It was as if Gabriel was afraid Carl might disappear if he let him out of his sight for more than a second or two... or if he wanted to burn the sight of him into his heart and soul, so the memory couldn't be taken from him like everything else in his life.

There was one more thing Carl noticed just before he followed Gabriel into sleep. One of the tapestries that covered the walls in a parade of wondrous creatures and serene landscapes showed a human figure that Carl could've sworn hadn't been there when he'd first looked at the images. It was a man, dressed in elegant if slightly outdated black garb, with long black hair held back in a ponytail and a handsome but very pale and strangely familiar face. He seemed to be watching the lovers curled up in front of the dying fire from the shadow of the trees. The way he held his arms was unusual, Carl thought drowsily. They were raised to shoulder height, palms out, as if the man was pressing against an invisible pane of glass in an effort to reach out of the picture.

Weird.

He only had nine fingers.

 

 **Epilogue**

Carl was upset.

Van Helsing had left Rome three weeks ago on a solo mission - a rarity these days, since the Cardinal had all but given up his attempts of separating them back into their little niches - and he was almost a week overdue. It had taken a few days for Carl to reach his present state of agitation. After all, it was supposed to be a relatively easy job; something about a chandelier-throwing phantom in a Parisian opera house. All Gabriel was supposed to do was go to France, find out what kind of creature they were dealing with, and make sure the harassment of opera enthusiasts stopped one way or the other. That he was still a wanted man in Paris was a minor flaw in the plan and unlikely to cause any problems. Van Helsing was a spectacularly hard man to catch.

 _He's fine_ , Carl told himself for the nth time. _He probably just got distracted saving yet another damsel in distress_. The damaged crossbow under his hands creaked with the force with which he tightened a screw. _She better be ugly, married, and blind_. Not that he thought Gabriel would cheat on him. The man was honorable to a fault, and - flatteringly enough - only had eyes for his chosen partner anyway. It was just that... well... Carl occasionally still had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that Gabriel had chosen _him_. Wanted him. Trusted him. Let him walk beside him through the fire and blood and pain despite the danger and their superiors' protests because it made them both stronger.

Except for when Carl was hurt or needed to spend some time in his laboratory with research and weapons' development, of course, both of which had been the case this time.

Where _was_ the inconsiderate son-of-a-bitch?

"Hand me the screwdriver there," he told his assistant, determined to keep himself distracted until his errant lover was safely back and ready to receive a rant on the virtue of punctuality as well as the buggering of his life up to date. "You know, I've about had it with this man's treatment of his weapons. Look at that. Do you know how two sets of bite marks that size come to disfigure the polish of a crossbow?"

Brother Antonio, who'd drawn the short straw and was therefore condemned to listen to the friar's venting and lend a hand with a number of borderline suicidal experiments involving unstable chemical compounds, edged weapons, and - for some inexplicable reason - mirrors, shook his head and tried not to imagine the creature responsible for the damage to one of Van Helsing's favorite instruments of destruction.

"I'll tell you how," Carl grunted as he dragged the bowstring back to test the tension. "Stuff like that happens when the person wielding the crossbow doesn't use it to shoot hellhounds from a safe distance, but thinks it clever to jam the thing into their maws while they try to eviscerate him with their claws. Now, you'd think a professional monster hunter would know that doesn't fall under 'smart things to do', but we're talking about Van Helsing here, remember? No self-preservation instincts whatsoever."

Brother Antonio's eyes widened and fixed on something behind Carl's back.

Carl ignored him.

"I spent ten months constructing this beauty. Ten months! It's not easy to create an interchangeable, multi-projectile magazine for a heavy duty crossbow and keep the whole thing within a manageable size and weight!"

Brother Antonio started to edge away from the work area.

Carl slid the bowstring back in place. "I don't mind the work. I like it. The point that drives me up the wall is that there's a reason why I handed him a long distance weapon. It's not that difficult: see the hellhound; shoot the hellhound. Don't bait it and then bludgeon it to death with the business end of your crossbow. That's what falls under 'unnecessary risks'." He dropped the weapon on the desk with a resounding clang, turned around and scowled up at Van Helsing. "You're fucking late."

He looked a sight, too. Hatless, his black coat tattered and bloody, a deep scrape running down one cheek, his hands bandaged, and standing with the careful poise of someone who didn't quite dare put a lot of weight on his right leg. If not for the unholy grin on that dirty, whiskered, much beloved face, Carl would've dived right into rant Nr.356 - "I wasn't worried half to death; I was waiting here, working my arse off for you and fuming, and you got _hurt again_ , you stupid damn bastard." However, it was hard to stay mad when confronted with a mangled assassin who showed all the mannerisms of a tomcat proudly presenting the spoils of a night out: in this case, something that looked like a big, disgustingly fresh animal bladder filled with some kind of liquid.

"What's that?" Carl asked suspiciously. Gabriel's ideas about suitable presents leaned towards the gory.

If possible, Van Helsing's grin widened. "Manticore blood. Happy birthday."

* * *

All over the Vatican's biggest research area, the scientists and holy men who'd watched the strange reunion of the Church's most successful Hunter pair stared at the slow smile that bloomed on Carl's normally so amiable face and began to reevaluate their opinion about who was the more dangerous of the two.

* * *

Only a dream away, deep in the lower circles of Hell, Vladislaus Dracula watched helplessly as Gabriel Van Helsing gave the cursed friar a look full of pride and devotion and followed him out of the dungeons into the warm light of a cloudless Italian summer day.

His howl of loss and rage turned into the deafening shrieks of a giant bat that threw itself against the huge ornate mirror that made up one of the walls of its prison; but the portal remained closed.

That's death.

 

 **The End**


End file.
